


One Night in Oblivion

by baratron, mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [16]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Ears, Fingerfucking, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Spanking, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratron/pseuds/baratron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of all the people to be sent to Oblivion with, aren't you lucky you got someone like me?"</p>
<p>Two legendary heroes, one legendary Emperor, definitely no Daedric Princes - and a couple of hours to kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to everyone on the Skyrim Kink Meme who won't be having a great Christmas. Have some porn to cheer you up. Lots of love, Martin!anon & Dyce!anon. (Not so anonymous on Ao3).

Ever since his night with Sanguine, Dyce had managed to cut down on his drinking. A bit. It was just too unexpectedly expensive to drink to that level of excess, and so it was much rarer than he woke up in strange places – with strange people, yes, but that was different.

He was outdoors definitely, but he wasn’t cold, which was deeply, deeply strange. The last place he remembered being was in Solitude. The Bards, for all their other faults, threw great parties. Not so great as to have one wake up near the Riften hot springs, which was where Dyce assumed he was. What exactly had happened? He didn't seem to have been sick, and he didn't smell disgusting, so he couldn't think of any reason why Viarmo might have thrown him out.

His head hurt, however. His first thought was that he’d been robbed, although Dyce tended not to enquire too closely. If you woke up with a sore head and no cash, it was just more pleasant to assume you’d had a great time, as opposed to being rolled. It didn’t matter; Dyce was incapable of holding onto his money under any circumstances. Easy come, easy go.

Dyce sat up, and looked about, and felt the strangest sensation of vertigo, quite distinct from the ache in his head. It was so _flat_ here. No mountains. He’d never imagine he’d miss them, but he felt oddly insecure without a horizon ringed by their grave, snow-capped presence. This wasn’t Skyrim. This didn’t look like anywhere. Dyce looked for the moons, and was deeply unhappy when he couldn’t locate them. This might not even be Tamriel. At least he still had his weapons.

And at least he was not alone.

There was another Breton sitting nearby watching him. He was young, dressed in leather armour, and rather pretty. His long red hair was loose around his shoulders, except for a narrow plait on each side to keep it out of his brown eyes. He looked pensive as he sat on the rock, hugging his legs, and very pale in the moonlight. Shorter even than Dyce, skinny, almost girlish – yet there was some aura of power around him, something that suggested that dismissing him because of his size would be a mistake. Was he a mage? Dyce was fairly sure he'd never seen him before, since he'd definitely remember a man who was quite that attractive.

The stranger looked concerned as he watched Dyce clutching his head, and reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so. Where the fuck are we?”

“I'm not really sure. My lover's gone to try to find out. He should be around here somewhere.” The other redhead looked around anxiously, though no other humans were in sight. No other living beings of any species, in fact. Just rocks.

“Gone to find out? Find out how?” There didn’t seem to be any logical direction to go and look for answers. “You’re not a friend of Sam’s are you?” Dyce asked suspiciously. “Sam Guevenne? No? Well, never mind.” Dyce decided not to share the entity’s real name. But this would be his style.

Dyce contemplated the facts. They were in the middle of nowhere, and he had no idea where they were. This was some sort of magic shit obviously, since not only did he have no memory, the only other person there didn't seem to know what was going on either. He considered trying to call on Odahviing, but the dragon was just as likely to laugh at them as to actually help, assuming they even were somewhere accessible by dragonflight.

“Well, even if your friend didn’t find answers, I hope he found something to drink.” They weren’t going to last long here otherwise.

There was nothing to do but wait and see, and nothing much to look at but the young man in front of him. He'd described his lover as “he”, which implied that he Liked Men. That was a good start. He also seemed slightly uncomfortable whenever he looked at Dyce, eyes darting across nervously, then away again. Dyce thought it was kind of cute. Relax, loverboy, he thought, I’m not going to make a move on someone clearly taken. Not without permission anyway; Dyce liked to avoid drama.

Dyce held out his hand to the stranger. “The name's Dyce.”

The other Breton looked surprised for a moment, before shaking his hand. “I'm Alix. Alix de Feu.”

The name didn’t ring any bells.

Dyce thought about standing up, but a wave of nausea rolled through his belly and he groaned, head dropping into his hands. Suddenly Alix was right by him, one hand on his forehead and the other on the back of his neck. “What's wrong with your head?”

“Dunno. Hangover, perhaps.” Or perhaps not, if the lump on the back was anything to go by.

“I... don't think so. Your skull seems bumped around. You must have hit your head pretty hard when you fell.” Alix cast a spell, some sort of healing. Blue light swirled around Dyce's head, flowing into his banged-up brain, and he felt instantly better.

“Hey, thanks. You’re pretty good.” Dyce gave him one of his best roguish ask-and-ye-shall-be-fucked grins, just to see how he’d react. “I’d thank you properly if you weren’t taken.”

Alix blushed a deep shade of red, which clashed nicely with his orangey hair. “Are you flirting with me? You'd better not. Not until Martin gets back, anyway.”

“Martin's your lover?” Alix nodded. “How long have you guys been together, anyway?”

“Um... a few months? It's been kind of intense lately. The Oblivion Crisis. World trying to end. Martin having to save it. Me trying to help.”

“Oh yeah, saving the world.” Been there done that. “Oblivion Crisis... hmm. I think I read a book about that once.” If you called flipping through it while crouched uninvited in someone’s house trying to work out how much it was worth ‘reading’. “I don't know much history, but that was years ago. Many, many years. Hundreds.”

“Huh?” Alix stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted. Dyce was starting to wonder if he was doing it deliberately.

“Well I’m not certain or anything.”

Alix shook his head and returned to his pensive pose, arms round his legs, head resting on his arms. He appeared quite thoroughly miserable. Dyce wasn’t exactly jumping for joy either, but for someone claiming to help save the world, he seemed to lack a little energy.

Maybe had good reason to be miserable; there could have been things Dyce had missed when he was out. “So... what were _you_ doing before you got pulled into this plane of existence?” Maybe he could offer some helpful saving the world advice.

Alix might have been about to reply, but Dyce suddenly became aware of movement behind him. Spinning around and drawing his sword, he confronted the danger... an Imperial man in a grey priest's robe, empty hands spread in front of him to show he was no threat. Alix squeaked in fear, but it seemed aimed at Dyce himself rather than the newcomer. Ah. This must be the mage's boyfriend. Dyce returned his sword to its scabbard. “I'm Dyce. You must be Martin.”

“Yes, indeed.” Martin's eyes met Alix's, and Dyce politely stood aside as the partners embraced, saying “I love you” to each other as if they genuinely meant it. He wondered if Dibella was behind all of this; if she was trying to teach him a lesson in the joys of pair bonding, she was being rather heavy handed.

Dyce took his time looking the Imperial over. Each part of him, taken individually, seemed ordinary. Light brown skin, darker brown hair that fell to his shoulders – mostly neat, apart from a little messy patch at the front. Clean-shaven. Average height, average weight, some degree of muscle. Large hands – and you know what they say about men with big hands. Dusky pink lips, which looked soft and kissable. Long eyelashes surrounding the most startling blue eyes. Okay, maybe his eyes were unusual – they bored through Dyce as if able to see straight into his soul – but nothing else was particularly strange about him. Yet power settled round his shoulders like a cloak. Dyce thought if Martin gave an order, he would have no choice but to obey – and not _just_ in bed, which immediately ruffled his feathers. Dyce prided himself on his independence. So he imagined the priest gagging on the end of his cock instead for a few moments. Much better. But Martin still gave the impression of being able to command armies, despite being a humble-looking man in a shabby priest's robe. Who was he?

Martin had sat down next to Alix, arm draped comfortably over his shoulder as the mage snuggled into his side, and was talking to him. “So I walked as far as I could, and then I saw the Dragon...”

“There’s a dragon?” That got Dyce’s attention. “Where?” Almost unconsciously, he grabbed the bow from his back and started to fit an arrow to it. Martin's hand reached out and held the bowstring.

“Not the sort of dragon that needs killing.” He looked at Dyce anew. “Where are you from?”

“Right now, Skyrim.” Dyce lowered his weapon, but stared at the other two men suspiciously. Alix seemed afraid of something by the way he was clutching at his lover.

Martin waved his hand in a frustrated motion. “I misspoke. Um. _When_ are you from?”

Dyce raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?” He had some idea, but he’d rather the priest just said it.

But Martin seemed very calm. “Humour me.” He hugged Alix tightly against his chest.

Dyce sighed. “Fourth Era 201. Do you want the month and day as well? Because I’m not entirely clear on those.”

Alix's brown eyes were wide, and he looked paler than he had earlier. “But _we're_ from Third Era 433.”

Martin nodded. “Then it is as Akatosh said. A Dragon Break has occurred, mixing up the timelines. He said something about the Elder Scrolls, and his son...”

“That sort of makes sense, I mean I was stuffing about with this Elder Scroll earlier but – wait, you spoke to Akatosh? Right, of course you did.” Dyce couldn’t help but sound somewhat sarcastic, even if the rest of the story made a certain amount of sense.

“I told you.” Martin was still calm, even though his partner was getting increasingly panicky. “I walked as far as I could, and then I saw the Dragon. Wait.” He stopped, and eyed Dyce curiously. “Are dragons a common occurrence where you're from?”

Dyce folded his arms and smirked. “I’ve personally killed dozens. Of course, they’ve only just returned to the world. They were supposed to be a myth, but then they started coming back. And well, you know, someone had to take care of it.” He was going to impress this man if it killed him.

Martin stretched out a hand towards Dyce. “Sit down.” Dyce found his legs obeying, _damn them_. “Who are you?”

“I already told you. My name's Dyce...”

But Martin was now holding Dyce's hand, and the direct skin contact with him was doing something odd to Dyce's insides, and he started salivating, and then magic flowed through him. His skin glowed transparent for a few seconds, and he saw the dragon souls. _So many_ dragon souls inside him, filling up his mortal frame...

“You're Dragonborn,” whispered Alix, amazed.

Dyce was horrified. The last thing he wanted to see was his own insides, in any sense. If he could have pulled away he would have.

Now the same thing was happening to Martin. Dyce could see inside him. Martin only had one dragon soul, but it was the most glorious of the lot – golden and majestic, somehow echoing godliness. Divine. Suddenly Dyce was not the least bit surprised that Martin talked to gods. He seemed to be at least part-deity himself.

Martin dropped Dyce's hand, and the link faded, leaving Dyce feeling oddly bereft yet rather relieved. “What in Oblivion just happened?” He prodded at himself with his fingers, making sure he was still solid.

“I think it's obvious, isn't it?” said Martin. “You're the Dragonborn in your era, just as I am in mine.”

“Yes I already know I’m- wait, you are too? Are you my great-grandfather or something?” Well, it wasn’t like he had any clue as to his family tree. He was _attracted_ to Martin, however and if Martin was his ancestor, that would be some sort of weird creepy incest thing. Not that it would make them close relations.

“I don't think so. Tell me, who is the Emperor in your time?”

Dyce shrugged. “He's called Titus Mede the third maybe? I know nothing about him. I haven't met him or anything like that.”

“Not Somebody Septim?”

“No. Our money's called septims, but the Emperor hasn't been called that in... I don't know how long. Since the Oblivion Crisis.” Oh. “Alix mentioned that earlier...”

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Alix shrieked in horror, went stark white, and started to cry. Martin wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly, and kissing the top of his head. “Shhh. It's okay. The timelines are mixed up. Don't worry.”

Dyce flinched at the sudden noise. Talk about highly strung. Why wouldn’t the Emperor be different now, and what did it matter? “Um... out of interest, who is the Emperor in your time?” Dyce found himself asking, entirely unsure why.

Alix looked up, tears still running down his face, and pointed at Martin. “He is.” He gulped and seemed unable to say any more.

Dyce stared at Martin, at his strong arms circling his lover, the line of his jaw as he kissed Alix's hair. He really wished they’d either stop making out in front of him or invite him to join in. “Dragonborn and Emperor is the same thing in your timeline?” This was _the Emperor?_ Why on earth was he wearing such a shabby robe?

“Yes. The entire Septim line are Dragonborn,” Martin told him.

“Oh right. Yeah. Descendants of Talos.” I could have been an emperor, Dyce thought with vague resentment. But it probably wasn’t as much fun as it sounded.

Alix was still sobbing. “If the Septim bloodline stops at the end of the Oblivion Crisis, that means that you... you... _die_.” He almost whispered the last word, before collapsing, curled into a ball.

Martin glanced at Dyce, a faintly concerned expression on his face, before enveloping Alix in a tight hug. “Love. Don't cry. He's not from the same timeline as us.”

Dyce could think of nothing worse than being stuck in what appeared to be a plane of Oblivion with an over-emotional young mage and his worried boyfriend. He wondered how to cheer them up. Perhaps he could try singing? People often started laughing when he performed his bardic repertoire. Either that, or throwing things. Hmm. He didn't really want another rock thrown at his head, and he had enough good sense to realise that pointing out by his time they'd both be dead _anyway_ probably wouldn't help things either.

And they were both rather good-looking. Were they exclusively pair-bonded, or did they ever play with others? Dyce opened his mouth to ask, but what came out was “You know, I've never been with an Emperor.”

Martin looked up, momentarily alarmed, before seeing Dyce's face. Dyce shrugged and grinned a bit self-consciously; there was nothing to be done about it, his mouth was usually one step ahead of his brain. Martin started to laugh; and after about 15 seconds, Alix giggled too – slightly hysterically, but at least he wasn't crying any more. “Before you got back, I healed his sore head and he started flirting with me.”

“Did he now? And what did you think about that?”

“I said he'd have to wait until you were here.”

“ _Really?_ ” Martin's eyes sparkled with interest, as he whispered something in Alix's ear. The Breton nodded and whispered something back, wiping the tear tracks from his face.

Dyce tilted his head with a thoughtful expression on his face. All of a sudden, this was looking rather more hopeful.

Martin smiled at Dyce. “Well, there isn't any other form of entertainment here, unless you are particularly excited about rocks. Akatosh said we would probably be here for a few hours subjectively, until the Dragon Break collapses and we go back to our own lives. I love this boy dearly, but it's been years since my last threesome. If _he's_ up for it, _I_ certainly wouldn't say no.”

“Really?” After everything else that had happened that day, Dyce wasn't expecting this sort of luck. “It seems safe enough here. If somewhat uncomfortable.” Seriously. Rocks. And some sand, which seemed soft enough unless you’d ever had it trapped under your foreskin. Ouch.

But Martin’s mind was still running along sexual lines. “You know, you two could almost be brothers... Both Bretons, both red-haired, both short... He's paler than you, and you're more muscular than him, but you really are very similar.” He leaned back, against a rock. What else? “I think I'd like to watch.”

“You mean it?” Alix seemed a whole lot happier. He bounced up and down on his toes, an excited bulge forming in his leather trousers.

“Sure.”

Dyce raised his eyebrows. Martin certainly acted like an emperor. Dyce only took orders for fun, and now Martin had sat down, Dyce was taller, and he strolled over to the Emperor, looking down at him. Dyce put himself on display; feet spread, hips slightly angled forward, head tilted to the side. This was about the only thing the bards had tried to teach him that he was any good at.

“I see how it is. His Godlike Majesty has rearranged time and space to see his fantasy fulfilled. That’s all right. Though I’m not very impressed by the provision – I’d have thought you could at least conjure up a bed.” He bent down and placed a hand on Martin’s knee so he could better stare into his blue eyes, noticing how his pupils were dilated with lust. And if he wanted to look down his robe at the chest beneath, that was his prerogative.

The Emperor yelped, and tried to touch Dyce’s chin; but he was already turning away. He approached Alix, sliding a hand along his jaw and cupping the back of his head. “He says he wants to watch,” he murmured in his ear. “But I reckon once he’s copped an eyeful of us, he won’t be able to help himself. What do you say we put on a bit of a show, hm?”

He pulled back with an impish smile. It wasn’t everyday one got to perform for an emperor, after all. Well, presumably for Alix it _was_ every day, but he was an exception. The mage was nodding, his eyes glittering in the starlight. He reached towards Dyce, pulling him into a tight hug. They were similar enough in height that he only had to tilt his head back slightly to reach Dyce’s mouth. Their first kiss was chaste, just a peck on the lips; but even that was enough to make Martin groan. Laughing, Dyce slid his hands back into Alix’s hair, tangling his fingers through the mage’s long locks and tugging. Alix moaned too, opening his mouth obediently, allowing access to Dyce’s roving tongue. Pressed so closely together, each of them could feel the other’s need building as they made out.

Clothing was a nuisance, armour even more so. Dyce started to feel trapped in his leather trousers, and he could tell that Alix was feeling the same way. After a few minutes of desperate snogging which left them both breathless, they stared at each other for a moment, before beginning to strip off their armour as quickly as possible, dropping it wherever it fell in their hurry. Dyce noticed that Martin had undone his robe and kicked off his underpants, and was now leaning back against his rock, cock in hand. The golden brown skin continued all over, and his chest sprouted brown hair as thick and lustrous as that on his head. Dyce wanted to stop and admire the Emperor properly, but that wasn’t compatible with putting on a show for him. Later.

Instead, he gazed at Alix. The other Breton’s skin was so light and creamy that it made _him_ look dark by comparison. Alix had very little body hair, only tufts under his armpits and around his genitals, and the lightest hint of a trail leading downwards from his belly button; but all of it was the same flame red. Despite his height and soft features, he was very obviously male under his clothes, with a narrow waist and sharp hips. And although he was short and slender, the erection standing proudly above his balls was neither. Dyce licked his lips, wondering what to do. He thought that Alix’s cock would be delightful to suck; but if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to keep watching Martin’s face. At least half of the fun of performing for someone was seeing their reaction.

Alix was looking into his eyes, and they began to kiss again, before realising almost simultaneously that they wanted more physical contact. Dyce shot a glare at the sandy ground, which made Martin instantly leap to his feet, taking off his robe and spreading it over the sand to provide protection. Okay. His Godlike Majesty wasn’t _completely_ useless, then. Dyce sank onto the soft robe, pulling Alix onto his lap. It _definitely_ beat sand in the genitals. They continued making out, tongues battling for dominance, as Alix grabbed fistfuls of Dyce's messy hair and scratched his fingernails down Dyce’s back. Dyce rubbed his stubble against Alix’s cheeks and ground against his crotch, trying to make sure Martin could still see both of their leaking cocks.

The Emperor was enjoying the view, breathing very rapidly as he frantically stroked his own penis. “He goes wild if you suck his ears,” he gasped.

Dyce tried this, licking along Alix's earlobe, watching the mage's eyes roll back into his head. Alix gulped and wriggled, hands reaching blindly for any part of Dyce he could reach, trying to push his ear right into his mouth. Dyce pushed Alix's hair out of the way to expose the pointed tips of his ears. They reminded him of Erandur, and he smiled.

“He has pointy ears like an elf. Does he come from having his ears fondled?”

“Oh yes.” Martin grinned back. His hand was tight against the base of his erection, squeezing hard against his balls in an attempt to calm down. Dyce envied his self-control.

Dyce stroked along the ear he was sucking, making Alix moan and buck. He started rubbing himself against Dyce's belly, cock so wet that it glided freely against the other Breton’s skin. Dyce fondled Alix's ear tip, then started to suck it, and the mage whimpered and squirmed, burying his face in Dyce's hair as his cock jumped and skidded.

Dyce was certainly experienced, but he hadn't had a partner quite _this_ wanton and desperate before. Especially not one who was already part of a couple, and clearly not lacking for attention or regular orgasms. He’d noticed that Alix was highly strung emotionally, but hadn’t expected his volatility to extend to sex as well. You learn something new every day.

“Turn him around. Set him between your legs,” suggested Martin.

Dyce decided to take his advice, knowing that this was the great advantage of playing with a couple. You didn't have to blunder about and hope you found out what the other person liked best. Their partner would simply _tell_ you. He started fondling Alix's other ear while still sucking the first one, and the mage screeched and panted and bounced up and down, his arse making delicious friction against Dyce's erection.

Dyce wondered if Martin had any chance of finding the little bottle of lube that was stashed in one of his pockets for emergencies. Probably not – he wasn't even sure where all the pieces of his armour _were_. And he definitely didn't want anyone else poking around looking for the hidden pockets of his Nightingale Armour – he was pretty sure that was a Guild secret. Damn.

“Let me help you.” Martin crawled over on hands and knees, his cock bobbing freely between his legs. “You suck one ear tip, I'll suck the other, and we'll grab a nipple each.”

Dyce licked and nuzzled his way along Alix's left ear while pulling on his left nipple, and Martin did the same on his right side. Alix yelled and cursed, frantically humping his arse against Dyce's cock. After less than a minute, he screamed and came undone, spurting into the air. He fell back against Dyce, who felt frustrated – the motions that the small, squirmy mage had made against him had brought him close, but not over the edge.

Martin trailed his fingers through the mess on Alix's belly, before offering them to him to suck. Alix moaned sluttily, licking Martin's fingers clean. Then Martin scooped up some more of Alix's fluids, and held his hand out to Dyce. “Want to help clean him up?”

Dyce's blue eyes widened, and he took hold of Martin's hand, letting his tongue trace the lines on his palm. He kissed Martin's hand, flicking his tongue along the delicate webbing between his fingers. Then he sucked two of the priest... shit, _Emperor_ 's fingers into his mouth, rubbing the rest of the hand against his stubble. Martin groaned, gratifyingly, and Dyce grinned. He pushed Alix out of the way gently, letting him collapse on the ground to get his breath back, while he reached for Martin. He noticed Alix roll over to watch.

Now he could appreciate Martin’s body the way he’d wanted to before. He ran his hands over the Imperial’s furred chest, fingers scrabbling through the hair, tugging and pulling. Martin made a low-pitched noise of desire, almost a grunt, and lifted Dyce onto his lap. “Kiss me, you bastard,” he said.

Dyce was tempted _not_ to kiss him just to show that he didn’t like taking orders from people in authority – only from dominant women with rope. But Martin smelled of soap, and fresh, masculine sweat; and the scent went straight to Dyce’s cock, making it twitch. He leaned forward, taking the Emperor’s chin between both hands, and kissed him very lightly.

Martin grumbled loudly with frustration. Running his fingers upwards through the Breton's red hair, he took hold of his head firmly with one large hand. Wrapping his other arm round Dyce's back, Martin stared into his eyes, making it very clear what he wanted. Dyce smirked, deciding not to make the Emperor beg, in case that was beneath him. The last thing he wanted was His Imperial Majesty taking his lover and leaving in a huff. So he kissed Martin properly, his chapped lips pressed against the Emperor’s softer pair; thrusting his tongue inside when Martin gasped and opened his mouth. Martin was a surprisingly good kisser, attentive and responsive, and they made out for several minutes until they were both breathless.

Still holding Dyce tightly on his lap, Martin shuddered in rapture and closed his eyes. Dyce caught Martin's lower lip between his teeth and pulled back, so that Alix could see. The mage was staring at the two of them, an awestruck expression on his face. He was sitting on the ground, already – or still – half-hard, hugging his knees in delight. “Is that what _we_ look like together?” he whispered.

Martin opened his eyes and smiled. “Probably. He does look a lot like you in some ways.” As if to contradict his statement, his hands stroked Dyce's chest and belly, touching the muscles and fur that his boyfriend didn't have; making a direct comparison between them.

“Wow.” Alix seemed mesmerised. “I'd ask you to make out again, but that sounds creepy.”

The Emperor laughed. “My little pervert,” he said to the mage, affectionately. He made a great show of nuzzling Dyce's neck; licking upwards along the Breton's jawline, and behind his ears. “Dyce – do _you_ come from having your ears sucked?”

“I'm afraid not.” Dyce seemed annoyed, as if the universe was desperately unfair and owed him a favour. Wanting to reclaim his sense of equilibrium, he spat in his hand before reaching down to grasp both erections: his own and Martin's. Holding them together, he stroked roughly upwards, in short, sharp tugs. Martin started to shake; his whole body quivering as he tried to resist the urge to frot against Dyce's hand and cock.

He stilled Dyce's hand. “Wait, stop,” he pleaded weakly.

Dyce did as he was asked, a bit startled. “What's wrong?”

“I... I...” Martin was blushing and stammering. “I don't just want to come. When I was... Before I was a priest, I used to be pretty wild. I... I always liked being between two other men.”

“Oh?” Dyce knew exactly what he was getting at, but he wanted the Emperor to spell it out. How had he never previously realised the aphrodisiac effect of forcing a powerful man to tell him what he wanted sexually? He'd have to do this more often. There were a few Jarls in Skyrim that he wouldn't mind trying it on with.

Martin was bright red with embarrassment, and he flicked his hair into his face to hide it. “I... I don't know if this is going to be possible, but I'd really like you to fuck me while I fuck Alix.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Dyce said. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“Put it this way,” Martin mumbled from under a curtain of hair. “If it really had been me who'd rearranged space and time for this to happen, I'd have made sure there was a wide, comfortable bed, and a big bottle of oil.”

“Oh. Well. You can thank your lucky stars, again. I have just the thing. Somewhere.” Dyce started searching around for the appropriate piece of armour. Alix jumped to his feet to help him, methodically sorting the armour into two piles: “mine” and “his”. Eventually Dyce found the right concealed pocket, brandishing the bottle of lube like a rare and valuable artifact in front of Martin's astonished eyes.

The Emperor was unable to manage any more than a heartfelt “Wow”. Taking advantage of his surprise, Alix leapt onto his lap; kissing him passionately while grooming his hair back into place. Martin was still blushing, and Dyce was amused. The Emperor's hands seized his boyfriend's arse, squeezing and kneading his buttocks. Unwilling to be left out, Dyce crouched down next to them, and enjoyed the show, confident he'd get his turn.

Abruptly, Alix turned sideways and tackled Dyce to the ground. Dyce tumbled onto the soft robe spread over the softer sand, with the small squirmy mage landing proudly on top of him. Alix buried his face in the other Breton's chest hair, inhaling his smell; groping his muscles enthusiastically as Dyce scratched fingernails down his back. Martin watched them fondly, almost benevolently for a few minutes. But when Dyce's hands strayed onto Alix's backside, Martin growled possessively, and threw himself onto the pile.

“Please give me that bottle,” Martin ordered, and with two men lying on top of him, Dyce didn't have the breath to say anything smart. Instead, he repaid the Emperor by digging his fingernails into his legs; the only part of him that he could reach. Martin sighed, gazing at the unrepentant Breton through long eyelashes, as he coated a couple of fingers in oil.

Dyce couldn't see exactly what Martin did to Alix then but he could guess, because the mage squealed. Dyce sat up, shifting Alix downwards so he could watch as Martin slowly inserted one finger into his boyfriend's asshole. Alix yelped like a virgin being deflowered – which was mildly alarming – but Martin smiled. “He's always like this,” he explained. “Tighter than you'd ever believe. You could try playing with his ears again. That might help.”

Dyce found Alix's ears, and the reactions he could coax out by touching them, infinitely amusing and so he did as Martin suggested; becoming less concerned as the mage's cries turned from uncertain into definite pleasure. Once Alix began to relax, he started nuzzling Dyce's cock – carefully licking around the base to keep him interested, but without providing enough stimulation for him to come. Dyce wanted to grab him by his oddly pointy ears and force his head down; but he knew that a better prize was waiting for him, if he could just hold out for that long. The other Breton's mischievous brown eyes were not helping in the slightest.

Martin fingered Alix for ages – far longer than Dyce ever had patience for. He was actually starting to feel bored. Oh, it was mildly pleasant watching them, but it was taking too long, and Alix's tongue was teasing him without offering any relief. He wanted the sex to move on, damnit. Just when he was about to let out a very unsubtle yawn, Martin spanked his lover firmly on the bottom and told him to roll over. _Finally!_

Alix stretched, catlike, then folded his leather trousers into a neat pillow. He lay on his back, head resting on the makeshift pillow, knees bent so his feet rested on the ground. Martin joined him, lying on his side, his legs bent to provide a support for Alix's, and his arse finally accessible. He applied a bit more oil to his damp hand, before handing over the bottle to Dyce with a nod and lascivious grin. As Martin plunged two fingers inside his howling, twitching boyfriend, Dyce took the time to examine His Godlike Majesty's backside. It lived up to its promise.

Martin’s skin was the same shade of golden brown all the way down, unmarred by any scars or blemishes. Dyce considered the possible repercussions and couldn't think of any particularly bad ones. So he gave the Emperor’s arse a few sharp slaps. Martin responded in the most favourable way possible, moaning loudly and shouting, “Do that again.” Dyce spanked him, eliciting the most delightful stream of swearing, until his buttocks were red and his own hand was sore, and Martin had paused his fingering of Alix to cry out in wordless pleasure. Only then did Dyce part the Imperial's buttocks, stroking and squeezing the twin globes of his arse, before trailing one lubricated finger around his asshole. Martin inhaled deeply, shuddering in anticipation.

Martin’s entrance was already gaping open. It took no effort at all for Dyce to push the tip of his finger inside. Then he met a little resistance, but nowhere near as much as he'd been expecting. Martin sighed, and his arse opened up to him.

“Huh. You really like this, don't you?”

“Yeah...” Martin was flushed with arousal, and his normal mode of speech – relatively formal, rather decisive – was replaced with breathless pleading. He glanced over his shoulder at the Breton, his blue eyes glazed over, the pupils pulsing as he shifted focus. Alix complained as his boyfriend's hand stilled, his needs temporarily forgotten. Martin turned back to him with an apology, stopping again as Dyce thrust a second finger inside.

The threesome lay together for a while, Dyce fingering Martin while he attempted to finger Alix. Dyce regarded it as a great success every time he wrenched a deep groan out of Martin and a grumble out of Alix. Not that he had anything against his (very pretty) fellow Breton, but the man had already come once _and_ got to make love to his Emperor on a nightly basis. This would be Dyce's only chance, after all.

Martin was clearly ready, well and truly prepared. Dyce slid his fingers out, caressing Martin's cheeks one more time. He slicked up his cock, leaving the bottle of oil within Alix's reach before whispering “Brace yourself, Your Majesty,” right into Martin's ear.

As Dyce thrust into the Emperor’s tight heat, Martin uttered a long, low-pitched moan, half-collapsing on top of Alix; who wrapped both arms around his neck in a loving embrace. Dyce didn't stop until his erection was all the way in, gratified by each hitch in Martin's breath and his wanton cries.

“ _Gods!_ ” groaned Martin. “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

Dyce pulled almost all the way out before slamming into him again, and was rewarded by Martin shrieking, begging, “ _Please!_ ” The Imperial was writhing beneath him, hands reaching back to try to draw Dyce even further inside. Each thrust of Dyce's cock caused Martin to convulse in ecstasy, desperate for more. Each movement caused friction of Martin's cock, now dripping, against Alix's belly.

Alix poured oil into his hand, and spread it over Martin's erection. Then he reached up and kissed his boyfriend's nose. “Love?” he said. “I'm ready.”

Dyce stopped for a moment, waiting for the Emperor to adjust his position, but Martin was too turned on to be capable of conscious thought. So Dyce sank his teeth into Martin's shoulder to get his attention. The sudden pain made the Imperial swear; but he seemed more aware of what was happening, resting his weight on one elbow instead of leaning heavily on Alix, and shifting up a little. Slowly, very slowly, he entered Alix, who made delightfully slutty noises and lifted his legs, wrapping them around Dyce's back. The three men lay together for a while as Martin got used to the sensation of being impaled from behind while sheathed inside his lover.

Taking a deep breath, Martin attempted to regain control of the situation. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let's do it.” He slowly slid out of Alix as Dyce withdrew from him; neither of them pulling out completely. Then Dyce rammed into Martin, forcing him inside Alix. Martin yelled in pleasure at the intense stimulation he was receiving from the two Bretons; one filling his arse, the other surrounding his cock. Alix screamed passionately as Dyce's weight drove Martin's cock deeper inside him than it had ever been before.

They tried to stay synchronised, but it was difficult: each man's body demanding a slightly different natural rhythm. No one was the least surprised that Martin came first, spasming wildly, shooting fluids inside his lover, before collapsing on top of him, completely spent. The muscles around his asshole clenched and relaxed in a stuttering pattern, milking Dyce's cock for all it was worth and driving him to an orgasm of his own. Dyce flopped bonelessly on top of Martin, and they lay in an uncoordinated heap for a few minutes, fighting for breath.

Eventually Martin recovered enough to realise that Alix still needed to come. By now, both he and Dyce were soft; but that wasn't a problem as he rearranged himself to kneel between his lover's legs, vigorously fingering his asshole. Dyce rolled onto his front, taking hold of Alix's erection in his right hand, tugging at it firmly before devouring it with his wet mouth. The mage hollered, screaming his partners' names, yelling out to the gods, as he fucked Dyce's mouth. It wasn't long before Alix trembled violently and came undone.

Dyce swallowed and licked his lips, very deliberately, before leaning over and kissing Alix. He then turned and did the same to Martin, who smiled and kissed him back, very thoroughly, with tongue.

“Thank you,” said the Emperor, very sincerely.

Dyce grinned. “Of all the people to be sent to Oblivion with, aren't you lucky you got someone like me?”

“Extremely,” replied Martin, apparently entirely serious. He looked at his body, covered in oil and sexual fluids. “How in Oblivion are we going to get cleaned up?”

Alix giggled. “We might as well use your robe. It's already got sand all over one side and a fair bit of oil and come splattered on the other.”

Martin rolled his eyes, but agreed, wiping himself down before offering the robe, now rather worse for wear, to Dyce. The Breton bowed, only half-sarcastically. “Thank you, Your Majesty. For an emperor, you're all right.”

Once they were all vaguely clean and dressed again (Martin only in his underwear, unable to bring himself to wear his robe even in irony), Dyce mused, “It's strange. I half-expected Sam to be behind this.”

The Imperial suddenly tensed. “Sam? Sam _who?_ ”

“Sam Guevenne. He likes throwing parties. He gave me a staff too, but I sold it to a high elf.”

Martin slapped a hand against his forehead, and Alix snuggled against him; unsure what exactly was wrong, only that something was. “What _exactly_ did he make you do?”

“My memory's a bit hazy, but I think a good time was had by all. He seemed to like me.”

The Emperor whirled round and shouted into the air. “By Akatosh and the Nine! Sanguine! I DON'T BELONG TO YOU ANY MORE!”

Then a tall, rather fat Dremora with red face and horns appeared from thin air. Alix yelped and drew his sword, stopping only when he realised that neither Dyce nor Martin were the least bit surprised. The Dremora said, “It's a shame you've grown so prudish in your old age. You always were my favourite follower.”

Dyce nodded. “Oh hello again. How's the eternal party going?” He thought for a moment. “What do you mean _he's_ your favourite? You said you hadn't had such a good time for at least a hundred ye- oh.”

Sanguine smiled. “Ah, Dyce. So wild. So much promise. Perhaps we'll celebrate again soon...”

But Martin interrupted, turning on him to yell angrily, “Why did you bring us here? So you could watch?”

Sanguine shook his head quite calmly, still smiling. “Ah, Martin. My little prince, full of power. Didn't I tell you that you were the Emperor’s son?” Martin fumed, but remained silent. Alix squeezed his hand, sympathetically. “What makes you think that _I_ brought you here? Haven't you visited my realms? Would I have left you here without sheets and pillows and oil and wine? Of course not. It was a Dragon Break, just as your god said.”

The Daedric Prince began to fade from view. Just before disappearing completely, he called out, “Though I certainly enjoyed watching!”

Dyce waved. “Have fun!” To Martin’s glowering face, “Did I say something wrong?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, of course. Look, I'm not saying he's the nicest Daedric Prince – he did try to marry me off to a hagraven after all, but he came good in the end.”

“What's a- you know, I don't want to know.”

“You really don't.” Dyce held up his hand, the ends of his fingers leaving a faint luminescent trail in the air. From the corners of his eyes, the world seemed to glow. “I think it's ending.”

He wrapped an arm around each of them, noticing how they blushed and held hands. “Thank you so much. It was quite fun.” He kissed them both swiftly, not sure how much time was remaining. “And don't worry,” he assured the pair. “You save the world!”

* * *

Dyce held the book up over his head, his bare feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He heard quiet footsteps but didn't pay a great deal of attention until they stopped, quite close.

“So this is where you are.” Vex put her hand on her hip and looked down at him. “Weren't you paying attention? It's Vekel's birthday and-” she broke off as Dyce lowered his book, and she caught a glimpse of his face.

“I don't really feel like a party,” Dyce said, propping himself up on his elbows. “You go on ahead.”

Vex looked over her shoulder at the deserted Cistern, making sure they were quite alone. “Honestly, what in the world are you reading?” She took the book out of his hands and knelt down beside the bed to give him a hug. “Not a word of this to anyone, you understand?”

Dyce chuckled a bit sadly and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “Have I ever disobeyed you?”

Vex peered over Dyce's head at the gold lettering embossed on the cover, but she didn't understand why anyone would find an old history book like _The Oblivion Crisis_ so depressing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dyce for the idea, naughty Breton that he is!
> 
> Thanks to mongoose_bite for editing, fixing dialogue and characterisation, and reining in baratron's overenthusiasm. (Seriously - HOW MANY pages?)
> 
> Thanks to luminare_ardua for beta-reading and helpful comments, without which this story would have had much less passion.


End file.
